The Fallen
by susies-fandom-wonders
Summary: My take on how things went after Randall's fall in Miracle Mask. (Warning, suicidal ideation and self harm is present. Read at your own discretion, please)
1. chapter 1

"Randall!" Hershel's mouth was open in shock. He couldn't fathom what had just happened.

His arm was still extended out, his hand reaching to grasp nothing but air. His body was burning and aching from exertion, his heart was pounding, his thoughts going a mile a minute as his throat closed up.

He could still see the fear, the shock, on his friend's face when his grip finally slipped. The trembling of his body that ran up his arm and into Hershel's, his eyes large and beginning to fill with tears. The faint noise of clothing rustling when he finally fell was all Hershel could hear.

Those memories kept flashing through Hershel's mind, as if those memories were still the reality around him. And it… it was his fault. If he hadn't gone along with Randall, he would still be alive. If Hershel didn't convince Angela to let them go, Randall would still be alive.

The wind was loud in Hershel's ears, the sound of the trickling water deafening. His vision was blurred, hot tears trailing down his face. Slowly, he drew his hand back, letting it rest by his side.

He'd never been a loud crier -- in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had cried. But now, sitting alone in the final chamber of the Akbadain ruins… He sobbed loudly, letting out strangled cries as he clenched his hands into fists, hard enough that he drew blood.

He had caused Randall's death. It was all his fault.

'Tell Angela I'm sorry.'

Hershel rose shakily to his feet. Yes… whatever lied behind that final door was what Randall had wanted to find. Whatever layed behind that door, he needed to bring it back to Angela. Angela deserved it. She deserved Randall coming back instead of his friend.

He solved the puzzle on the door with shaky hands and blurred vision, his hands slipping a few times before the door swung open after a small, quiet click.

Hershel wanted to scream, sob again. Randall's death wasn't worth these treasures, all the gold in this room would never replace him. He knelt down, his hand reaching to pick up a handful of coins from the floor. His world went numb as he looked down at them with dull, blank eyes.

He felt like throwing up. He didn't want to leave, to go back, to face Angela, to tell him that Randall was gone, he'd let him fall, he'd seen the fear on his face as he had been swallowed by the abyss.

The coins fell back to the ground with loud, metallic clanks. Hershel stayed for just a bit longer before leaning down again and scooping up a single coin up before pocketing it. He'd give it to Angela for Randall. Randall would have wanted to show Angela what he'd found. Hershel would do that. She deserved that.

The sun was setting by the time Hershel saw Stansbury in the distance. He had long since stopped sobbing, his mind numbed, the colors around him turning grey, muddled. The bruises and gashes on Hershel's body had long since stopped hurting, his body was cold, weak. He saw Angela and Henry on the outskirts of the small town; Angela perked up at the sight of him. His stomach dropped as she ran towards him, he couldn't look at her. Not after he had broken her promise to bring Randall back safe. Not after he'd let him fall.

"...How did it go?" Angela's voice was like static. "Where's Randall?" Hershel clenched his fists together, and Angela's expression shifted then. It cut into Hershel; he sucked in a sharp breath. Angela grabbed at his shoulders, shaking him violently, desperately, tears were beginning to stream down her face; her face showed so much heartbreak, so much despair, then… then it shifted to grief and anger.

"Hershel, where is he?! You promised! You… you…." She stepped away when Henry placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, shooting Hershel a pointed look. The boy had thought he had cried himself out; yet more began to stream down his face.

"I'm --" His voice was tight. Angela looked at him as Hershel fished into his pocket and pulled out the golden coin. "I'm… I'm sorry…." He reached out and placed it into Angela's hand gently. "This… this is what…. This is what Randall wanted to find in the ruins." Angela looked down at the coin for a moment; her expression had gone dead. Hershel let his arm drop limply to his side. "He… wanted to tell you that he's sorry."

A sharp smack rang through the air. Hershel's head was turned from the impact, his pain numbed and tingling.

"I don't want this stupid coin! I want him back!" Angela was screaming now, angry tears pouring down her face. Henry stepped forwards, his hands moving towards Hershel.

"Miss Angela, that's enough." Henry's voice was quiet. "Master Layton is hurting enough already." Angela whirled on him.

"He could have saved Randall, Henry! Aren't you mad at him? He could have done something!"

"That's enough." Henry's voice remained calm, though it now carried a small tremble. "We're all hurting. Let him be while we figure this out, alright?"

"Henry, you're not listening!" Hershel was beginning to tremble.

"She… In… the final room…." They both looked over at him. "In the f-final room, there was… a trap… floor caved in… I made the jump… grabbed his hand…." Hershel was beginning to feel lightheaded. "I'm… sorry. I should… I should have jumped in with him…." There were hands on his face, Henry was gazing at him with angry eyes.

"No. Pardon my assertiveness, but you are alive because you wanted to tell us. What do you think would have happened if neither of you had returned?" Hershel gazed back with dead, dull eyes. Henry continued. "We wouldn't have known. Even if you didn't come back with Master Randall, you came to tell us what had happened."

"Randall should be here, not me." Angela had straightened, her eyes boring into Hershel's with malice, pure hatred.

"You're right." Henry looked back at the girl, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"Miss --"

"It would have been better if you'd never been born!" Angela covered her mouth as soon as the outburst left her. Hershel stared at her blankly as she stumbled back, shaking her head. "I'm -- I'm sorry… I-I'm so sorry, Hershel."

"Hershel!" Lucille ran up to the group then, followed by several other residents of Stansbury, including….

Randall's parents.

"Hershel, where were you?! Look at yourse -- honey?" Lucille stepped closer towards her son, her face crinkling from anger and anxiousness to complete concern. "Hershel?" Her voice was quiet -- Henry had stepped away, letting Lucille step forwards and grab his hands. "Hershel, honey… what happened?" Mrs. Ascot finally stepped forward.

"Hershel, do you know where Randall is?" Hershel looked at her, at her anxious face, before breaking down again, sinking to his knees before giving a loud sob. Lucille gave a loud explanation before kneeling next to her son.

"What happened, Hershel? Was Randall with you?"

"Lady Ascot, if I may…." Henry chose to answer in Hershel's stead. She looked at him, eyes beginning to well with tears.

"Do you know what happened?" Henry looked down at Hershel before he nodded.

"Master Randall went and explored the Akbadain ruins in the desert. Hershel went with him, because the Master would have gone either way." Mr. Ascot narrowed his eyes, then.

"Did you know about this idea beforehand?" Henry looked down at the ground, then nodded.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you --"

"No, it's alright, Henry." Mrs. Ascot gave a pointed look to her husband. "Continue, please."

Henry nodded. "Well, from what Master Layton told me and Miss Angela --" Angela herself had sunk to the ground, hugging herself, tears streaming down her face. "--that they were in the final area of the ruins, and a trap was activated. A sinkhole formed, Hershel made the jump, and tried to pull Randall up."

Mrs. Ascot shook her head. "Henry, don't tell me…."

Henry's expression was solemn. "Yes. Hershel couldn't pull him up. He fell." Mrs. Ascot took a step back, her eyes widening.

"No…." The small crowd looked at Hershel when he gave a loud, keening sob.

"I'm so-rry… I-I'm s-so… s-sor-ry…." Lucille gripped his face.

"Hershel… Hershel, honey… look at me." Hershel grit his teeth, more tears falling down his face. "We'll talk about this later, alright?... For now… let's get you home and cleaned up."

"N-No poi-nt…." She was already pulling him to his feet. "M-Ma… pl-please…."

"Hershel, you listen to me. It will be okay. Let's go home, please."

Hershel was silent as Lucille dragged him home, his mind going even number. Roland had appeared not long after Henry told what had happened; he was talking to the Ascots, now. He staggered and stumbled along, as if he'd give out at any moment. Lucille opened the door to their home, pulling Hershel inside.

"You need to eat -- did you eat anything, Hershel? -- and take a bath -- alright, dear?" At any other time, Lucille's fretting would have brought a smile to Hershel's face. Now, however… he was dead, numb. His friend was dead. It was his fault.

He was pulled to the table and sat down, Lucille fretting about the kitchen.

"Ma --," even his voice sounded dead, "--I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something, dear. What would you like? I can heat up some Shepherd's pie, even a piece of bread would be alright, Hershel." The boy had rested his head on the table, his body shuddering.

"I'm not hungry."

"I…." Lucille sighed, moving to her son and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's fine… but you're going to take a bath, alright? And we'll get those wounds cleaned up." Hershel didn't respond, instead lolling his head to look at her. Lucille pursed her lips, worry clearly showing on her face. "It wasn't your fault, okay?" Hershel didn't react. She stood up. "I'm going to draw your bath now, okay? Just stay here."

Hershel heard the footsteps retreat. His thoughts wandered then, back to the interaction between him and Angela.

'It would have been better if you'd never been born!' Hershel turned the thought over and over again in his mind.

If he hadn't been born, Randall would have lived. Angela would have stopped Randall from going into those ruins. The reason Randall was gone was because of him. If he had never been born, Randall would be alive.

A tear rolled down Hershel's cheek and onto the table. Lucille came back downstairs.

"Come on, dear. Let's get you in the tub, alright?" She helped guide Hershel to his feet and up the stairs, leading him into the bathroom. She helped him get out of the dirty, bloody and torn clothing before she left, shutting the door.

Hershel stared at the water for a long moment before turning and rummaging through the cupboards, looking for his father's razor. He gripped it in his hand before finally getting in the water.

The liquid immediately turned murky, blood and dirt coming loose from Hershel's body. He lifted the knife out of the water, inspected it before he actually flipped the blade open. His body still hadn't managed to stop trembling, but he was able to steady his hand long enough to make the the first slice on his arm, giving a small whimper at the slight sting as the new wound welled up with blood, trickling and joining the rest of the filth in the water he sat in. He steadied his hand again before making another slice, and another. He moved up and down his arm, watching the blood trickle down and further stain the water.

This is what he deserved, Angela was right, he shouldn't have been born. He felt lightheaded as he switched arms, making more cuts, deeper cuts. His vision was swimming at this point, he'd lost so much in one day, combining that with the blood loss was too much for his body to take.

When had he started crying? He really was weak, wasn't he? Couldn't even save a friend's life. Only caused pain.

He gripped the knife tight in his hand before raising it to his neck. It didn't matter. Nobody would miss him. Randall was more important. He should have lived.

He sliced just as the door opened.

"Hershel, honey I --" Lucille screamed, dropping the fresh clothing she had brought for him, instead electing to rush to her son's side and taking the blade out of his hand before placing her hands on the cut he had made on his neck. "Hershel, please stay with me. I love you so much, honey… why would you…." She heard the door open and close downstairs. "Roland?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lucille felt the relief flood her.

"Call the ambulance, now."

"Lucille?"

"Hershel is hurt. Call the ambulance." Hershel's head lolled to the side, his tired, sad eyes gazing at her.

"I'm sorry, Ma…." His voice was hoarse.

"Hershel, no, honey, no…."

"I should have fallen instead of Randall." Lucille shook her head.

"Don't say that, dear. What happened was beyond your control."

"She told me that I shouldn't have been born." Lucille was crying, her teeth clenched. Roland appeared in the doorway then. "She told me that Randall should have lived instead of me."

"Shhh, Hershel. Just focus on staying awake, alright?"

"I'm sorry for being such a terrible son." Hershel gave a shuddery exhale, tears trailing down his face. "I've only caused you nothing but trouble." The faint sounds of an ambulance reached Lucille's ears. Her hands were slick and sticky with her son's blood.

"No, no, hon. You didn't do anything of the sort." Hershel smiled wearily and without mirth.

"Ma, I'm tired."

"I know."

"I'm scared."

"...I know." The door burst open downstairs, footsteps ringing before paramedics rushed into the bathroom. "You'll be okay. These people are going to help you, okay?" Roland placed a hand on her shoulder as they lifted Hershel out of the water and placed him onto the tiled floor.

"Can you hear me, son?" One of the paramedics asked. Hershel nodded minutely.

"Good. Just stay with us, alright?" Hershel nodded again, a tear trailing down his face.

"I'm sorry." The paramedics glanced at each other.

"What are you sorry for?"

"Everything." The word was an exhale.

"Let's get him to the ambulance, alright?" Lucille placed a towel over her son's body as he was lifted oh so carefully from the ground and carried downstairs. She followed close behind, wanting to be with Hershel, until Roland placed a hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be alright now."

"I need to go with him. He needs his mother."

"Lucille…." Roland's voice was laced with worry and sadness. He squeezed her shoulder before letting her go. "Go to the hospital with him. I'll tell the folks what's going on, and I'll be up there, okay?" Lucille nodded.

"Thank you, honey."


	2. The Start of a Long Recovery

Hershel woke up to a spinning head and a white ceiling. How odd. His room didn't have a white ceiling.

He tried to move his body, but found it simply hurt too much to do so. There was faint beeping, and Hershel couldn't understand where it was coming from. His mother was sleeping in a chair next to his bed.

"Ma…?" He winced. His throat hurt, too. Why did everything hurt? Lucille came awake with a jolt, her eyes wide before she looked her son over.

"Hershel? Honey, are you awake?" Her worried, scared voice set Hershel off like nothing else. Why did this all feel wrong?

Wait. Randall falling, Angela yelling at him. It all came to him in a tidal wave. How he had slit his own throat in the tub.

How he wished he was dead. Hershel let out a sob. He understood now where he was. He was in the hospital. It hurt to move because he lost a lot of blood. It hurt to speak because of the wound he had made on his neck. Lucille jumped to her feet, grasping one of her son's hand in hers.

"Hershel… shhh. I'll go get a nurse, okay?"

"Why?!" Hershel sobbed out; his throat burned. "Why did you keep me alive?!" Lucille looked deeply into Hershel's eyes.

"Hershel, please… honey… I understand you're upset right now, but --"

"You don't understand, Ma!" Hershel clenched his eyes shut. "I don't deserve to live, I caused R --" His words got stuck in his throat, and his eyes shot open. Lucille was beginning to cry, her tears landing on his hand. "...Ma, please… just… you don't need to worry about me."

"Hershel." Lucille's voice was shaky. "Please don't say that… of course I worry about you." Hershel frowned, then pulled his hand away and looked over to the side, a shaky, strangled sob slipping past his lips.

"How can you?" Hershel's voice was broken. "How -- how can you…?"

"Hershel, honey…."

"I don't understand how you have ever cared for me. I'm nothing but a failure…. Always a failure. That's all I am."

"Stop."

"I've always thought that you've never really cared about me." Hershel didn't understand why he was telling his mother all of this now, but the words poured out of him. "I don't know why, but I've always thought that. I -- I can't -- I can't understand."

"Hershel, stop --"

"Ma, please --"

"No!" Hershel's eyes grew wide. Lucille sounded absolutely broken. "Hershel, stop it. Please." He went silent, his shaky breaths as he sobbed silently the only noises in the hospital room. Lucille continued after a moment. "We care about you, dear. We care about you so much." Her hand grasped at one of his again. "...You cared about Randall, didn't you?"

Hershel nodded after a moment. Of course he did. Randall was the reason he had opened up so much, out of his reclusive shell as a child. How could he not care about him? Lucille sighed.

"Hershel, Angela has been wanting to see you --" Hershel's stomach dropped.

"No. Don't let her in, please."

"She wants to apologize, Hershel. She was horrified when your father told her."

"N -- No, n-no, I don't… I don't deserve her pity --"

"Henry and Alphonse have been asking about you as well." Lucille smiled weakly. "I think it would help you if they came and talked to you."

"You don't --" There was a knock on the door. Hershel went silent when Lucille stood to open it.

"Is he awake?" His father's voice.

"Yes." His mother's voice was shaky.

"Son?" Hershel didn't answer. "Son, your friends are here to see you." The boy began trembling.

"Let them in," Lucille said. Hershel closed his eyes, his breathing and heartbeat beginning to increase when footsteps approached the bed.

"Hershel?" Please, God, this can't be happening. He remained silent still. Angela spoke again, her voice trembling. "Hershel, I'm… I'm sorry, I…." She was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry, I… I can't be responsible for a suicide, so… I'm sorry."

"Miss Angela --!"

"Oi, Angela, you could be a bit nicer."

"What else am I supposed to say?" Angela's voice was trembling with emotions.

"'Hey, Hershel, I'm sorry for blaming you and making you feel bad enough to attempt suicide'?" Alphonse's voice was softer than it normally was. "Hey, Hershel, buddy, it ain't you fault, and it'll never be your fault, you hear me?"

"Master Hershel, I… I apologize, I should have tried a bit harder to stop Master Randall, as well. It was never your fault. You just wanted to make him happy, like we all did." Hershel was trembling again. He didn't want to look at any of them.

"Hey, Hershel, can you look at me?" Hershel couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. Angela's voice turned pleading. "Please, Hershel, open your eyes." He still couldn't. "Mrs Layton, what exactly did he do to himself?" Hershel froze; please, Ma, don't --

"He had cut his arms to the point where he will possibly suffer permanent nerve damage. His throat… he sliced it to where he won't be able to speak very well for a while." Hershel clenched his eyes shut tighter, tears slipping past.

"Oh, my gosh." Angela's voice trembled even more.

"He told me what you had told him." Lucille's voice was quiet. "You understand now that he was already feeling bad enough before he told you what had happened to Randall, don't you?" Silence. "He was upset, he wanted comfort, but instead he was yelled at, degraded to where he is now. He wanted nothing more than to bring Randall back, you hear me, young lady?"

"I… I-I… yes, ma'am. I'm sorry." More silence.

"Let's go, Angela." Footsteps as Angela and Alphonse left. Hershel finally found it in him to open his eyes, catching Angela's back as she left the room. Henry gazed at him.

"I apologize, Master Hershel, but I must go back." He stood. "I promise that you have done nothing to deserve what Angela thinks you do. Once you get out, I will be there to help you." He patted Hershel's arm gently before he left.

Hershel was exhausted. As he watched Henry go, his eyes drooped once more. He closed his eyes, falling asleep for real, this time. The chattering of his mother and father helped lull him further, into an uneasy sense of security. They were truly too kind to him.


End file.
